For my last, and recent, birthday– among other small wonders– my mother sent me a beautiful bone-white and still-beaked bird skull, fragile and still. A week or so later, a package appeared from the Netherlands; it was a gift from my father’s sculptor-sister, Els, who’d been inspired to carve for me–unbidden and unknowing–the same strange item from stone.
Yesterday, M and I met a few new friends at the First Thursdays Art Walk in Pioneer Square. We were met, at the second gallery, by the bronze work above.
I was entranced, though I know not why. And I am listening, although to what I am unsure.